


What Dreams May Come

by liketheysay



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (Also cheesy title I know just roll w/ me here), Domestic Fluff, Dreams and Nightmares, Hurt/Comfort, It's a habit carried over from journaling, M/M, My First Fanfic, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Sorry for my overuse of the emdash, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 03:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11546748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketheysay/pseuds/liketheysay
Summary: Set sometime after The Wrath of the Lamb, Hannibal and Will are on the run from the FBI, hopping hotels and moving up the East coast. One night, Will suffers from a nightmare but Hannibal is nowhere to be found... or something like that.





	What Dreams May Come

**Author's Note:**

> PS- This is my first fic so comments/constructive criticism would be much appreciated! Happy reading!

_Will was floating again— he had been making a habit of it. A steady stream moved beneath him, sheets of lilac and grass lined the water’s edge. He was eager to reach it. Did he bring his fishing gear? He couldn’t remember. Maybe he left it in the car. Slowly, he eased himself down into the brisk water. He stood up to his waist in it and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he was on his back and flowing with it, unable to move on his own accord. Let it, let it. He stretched out his arms, palms up— a ritual, holy sacrament. It felt a little like falling. The water hugged the length of him, forming a perfect mold around his body. He relaxed into it. He did not care where it would take him, did not question its motive, did not mind the idea of being swept away by what comforted him most._

__

_The water worked its way between his toes, around his legs, climbed his chest— had he always been barefoot? It didn’t matter. Warmth began to creep over his face, filling his ears, tickling at the edge of his eyes. Suddenly, the stream overtook him and he was under. Great gouts of it rushed past him, through him. He was thrashing and full of want. He felt heavy and sank down, down, further down still. He couldn’t see, he can’t see— “Hannibal!?”_

__

__

Will woke with a start. He hadn’t been dreaming much lately. But what was this? A nightmare sprung from a former sanctuary? Apparently he was destined to feel a creeping sense of unease everywhere he went, including dream worlds. He got out of his single bed and made his way to the bathroom. 

Oddly, Hannibal was already out of bed. Of course, one could not be sure he had even slept there at all due to the pristine display— sheets tucked in tightly, pillows propped high. The room they shared was small, but large enough to fit two twin sized beds and a dresser comfortably. A half wall separated a small kitchenette in the corner. They slept separately. There was no rush in Will’s mind to test the edges of this new partnership with Hannibal. It was still a foreign feeling to not have to pretend, to exist simultaneously with what was once thought impossible. Regardless, there had been little time for intimacy outside of the needed touches that come with making sure the man you threw over a cliff is in a healthy, stable condition. They both worked to help aid the other when one found something a little too taxing for a person with, say, a gunshot wound to the stomach or a deep gash in the shoulder. Apart from all their differences, they made a good team. Then again, they always had.

Will walked to the adjoining bathroom in bare feet and stood in front of the mirror. He looked tired— he looked like a man who was running from something, a man with some deep-rooted conflict set under his eyes. He scrubbed his hands over them roughly. _Wake up, wake up._ It was too early in the morning to delve into his buried, and not so buried, torments. He tried to control his unruly morning hair by running a hand through it a few times or so, but it only made him look disgruntled. To tell the truth, he didn’t feel all that bad. Sure, he was technically in hiding from the FBI and trying to cope with leaving his semi-normal life behind, but beyond that, he felt okay. And okay was good. 

He decided to quit fussing with the hair situation and take a shower instead. Maybe by the time he finished Hannibal would be back.

Will stood in the shower for a long time. He used the fancy soap Hannibal had ordered online to wash delicately around the wound on his shoulder. The small bar of soap looked like a speckled robin’s egg and smelled utterly divine, to put it simply. He wouldn’t admit it, but Will took pleasure in holding it to his nose now and again to breathe in the velvety scent. As Will pointedly told Hannibal after he had discovered the purchase, soap was soap, but it was nice to relish small luxuries.

After drying off, Will walked back into the bedroom. He glanced over to the kitchenette in the corner— no sign of Hannibal. Will looked around the two bedside tables hoping for a note. Something like, _Went to the corner market. Be back soon._ Or, _Gone for a morning walk._ He found nothing.

Disappointed, he sat down on his bed and tried to think. Surely Hannibal would tell him if he were going somewhere. They weren’t exactly in the habit of giving each other a full report of their plans for the day, but Will assumed he’d at least mention if he were going out, considering it was best for the both of them to lay low for the time being. Unless… unless it was something Hannibal thought Will would disapprove of, or something mildly life-threatening? Maybe he didn’t want to get Will involved. No, Will was already involved. He’s as involved in this as Hannibal. So where could he have gone, and why?

Will quietly resented Hannibal for making him worry like this. He had worked hard to put up a display of general nonchalance, and it had been working up until now. He wanted to find Hannibal, make sure he was safe, and then yell at him. But there was little he could do now other than wait… and wait.

***

Will sat around for over half the day, watching the colors change on the walls of the stuffy hotel room, when he finally heard the click of the door unlocking. Hannibal walked in carrying two small booklets and set the keys down on the kitchen counter. He placed the booklets next to Will on the bed. Will glanced at them— fraudulent passports.

Hannibal looked at him expectedly, perhaps looking for approval.

How does Will play this? As the concerned housewife who has found out of her husband’s late night whereabouts? The lonely puppy who has been awaiting his master’s return? Or perhaps try his hand at stoicism, conjuring any leftover nonchalance.

“Where were you?” Will said quietly.

Hannibal took a breath, “There was someone I had to make arrangements with to prepare for our departure. We’ve been hidden here for a suitable amount of time. And, our injuries have healed sufficiently enough to keep moving up the coast. Don’t you agree?”

“Well, yes, I’d think so. But why didn’t you tell me where you were going? Of your plans to leave? We’re in this together, Hannibal, you can’t make these decisions without me,”

Will hadn’t really taken the time to consider these thoughts yet. He was actually a little surprised at how easy it was to admit. Referring to Hannibal and him as a team, as more or less a functioning alliance of sorts, was a relief to acknowledge. He could now begin to accept what they were together, or at least some fraction of what they were together. There were still bones in the closet and dark corners to discover. It might take some time to shed light on the true sum of their parts.

“I’m sorry,” Hannibal said, “I was only doing what I thought best to help our situation. In retrospect, it would have been better to inform you of my plans,” 

He paused to look for Will’s reaction, then continued.

“Will you forgive me?”

The words sparked a physical reaction in Will, like he had gripped a livewire. A bitter taste filled his mouth. Forgiveness was an unseen thorn in the rose bush, an unexpected prick to the palm of your hand. An admission whispered in the dark— _I forgive you._

He swallowed the small indignation.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Yeah, I forgive you, Hannibal, just tell me next time. We can figure this out together,”

“Yes, of course. What would you like for dinner?”

Just like that, a phrase to return normalcy. Well, as normal as one could get when on the run with a cannibalistic serial killer whom you’ve chosen life with despite all the signs warning otherwise. Yes, normalcy.

That night the two men ate dinner in silence. Hannibal had made blackened salmon served on a bed of white rice and greens, glazed with a warm raspberry sauce. Will was quietly impressed he could make such exquisite meals even when holed up in a small hotel kitchenette. 

After dinner, they worked together to clear the table. Will washed the dishes, Hannibal dried them and put them back into the cupboard. Without thinking, they functioned like a well-oiled machine. They served to each other’s needs accordingly— reached shelves the other strained to reach, cleaned wounds too difficult to mend on one’s own. It was a cooperation of working and not working parts, where one fell the other would come through.

Will crawled into bed and pulled the thin sheet over his shoulders. He turned over on one side, facing Hannibal. He was sitting up in his bed reading from a book he must have found in the drawer of his bedside table. He looked undisturbed, calm— but then again he always had. He commanded an air of trademark composure. Slowly, Will’s eyes grew heavy and the image of Hannibal began to blur.

_Then, darkness. Will settled into a starless black, a velvet curtain. He could detect shapes in the shadows, wrestling figures suffocating in the dark. An echo, looming from the pit of it all— the night… it’s another place… different from where we are during the day… hidden, less seen. The noise surrounded him, he pushed at it, tried to swat it away. Clearer this time— I’m not searching for Hannibal, I know exactly where he is. Suddenly, Will was thrown from his dream world and tugged into the next. It was cold here, so unbelievably cold. He was looking for something, a penny at the bottom of a pool. Where? He quickly came to the realization that he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. He was lost, unaware of his surroundings. He was like a stone thrown into the ocean, falling, heavy. And so cold, so cold..._

“Will?” Hannibal was seated on the edge of Will’s bed, refraining from seizing the trembling body beside him.

Will gave no response. He was at the mercy of his own torrid mind and there was nothing Hannibal could do to help. He had foolishly started to believe that Will would no longer suffer from such nightmares now that he had accepted this transformation, this life with Hannibal.

“Will, can you hear me?”

“Where were you? Where did you go?” Will said. A throbbing sense of panic visibly overwhelmed him.

“Will, I am right here. Here beside you,” 

“No, no, I can’t see you. I can’t…”

“Will,” Hannibal’s voice was assertive, but not unkind. “Will, look at me. I am right here, you can see me,”

“No, you left. You left me. Where did you go?”

Hannibal took Will’s face into his hands, thumb instinctively caressing the soft plush of his cheek. When Will did not respond to the touch, Hannibal reached for Will’s hands and put them on his chest.

“Here,” Hannibal said, “I am right here. You can feel me. Listen…”

Will gradually returned to an even heart rate, though his face was still twisted in a knot of nervous energy. He clutched at the front of Hannibal’s shirt and let out a heavy sigh. 

“That’s better. How do you feel?”

Will couldn’t answer. His mind was contorted and unkempt, harboring a sense of disquiet. Speech was not something he could manage. Instead, he lifted his gaze to Hannibal’s— for just a second, a moment— before crumbling into his arms, a strong but soft embrace. Hannibal took Will’s head in one hand and brought it to his shoulder. He could hear Will’s muffled breathing as he paused for a moment, then nuzzled further into his neck. Hannibal wrapped his other arm around Will’s back in a secure cradle. What was this? What could it mean to hold onto the man who has tortured you, who you have tortured in return? 

Against better judgment, Hannibal gave in to a simple desire— a light kiss on the curve of Will’s brow, modest. After a moment, he retreated— still close, but not so near as to be suffocating. One must try to maintain boundaries, after all. Consider the future, consider what Will has shown to be comfortable with. Did Hannibal still believe his touch could ground him? Was he so vain as to believe Will still regarded him as a clutch for balance, a paddle? Were they still so fragile?

It didn’t matter— their lives were changing and that was the end of it. They must learn to coexist, or break. The teacup can only be mended so many times.

After Will had dozed off, Hannibal kept watch over him through the night. Once or twice Will stirred himself awake and Hannibal came to soothe him again— no longer a trespass of unknown territories, but an attempt to diminish the remaining space between them.

***

It was morning. Will’s sheets felt sticky and damp from the incident overnight. The thin sheet of linen covering the window cast a muted shadow across the room. A dim, yellowy light permeated through and licked at the foot of Will’s bed. He tugged up his blankets with one hand and covered his face with them. It was hot in the little cave he created. He took two deep breaths and struggled to get needed oxygen. He breathed in through his nose— what was the smell? The stale taste of morning breath, yes, but what else? He unclenched the blanket and brought it to his nose to inhale. An oaky perfume filled his nostrils— he shuddered. It wasn’t his smell, but he was familiar with it. He got to know it after spending so much time in close proximity with Hannibal.

Will cleared his throat. 

“Whose blanket is this?” A stupid question, really. Whose else could it be? Still, Will wanted to hear it from Hannibal, the how and the why.

“Mine,” Hannibal said with a casual glance to the object in question. “I placed it on you last night. You were shivering; there was little I could do to help or comfort,”

Will digested that. It felt like something a mother would do to soothe her ill child. Pour a glass of water for the bedside table, provide a cool washcloth for his forehead. Will didn’t remember much of his panic last night, but he did remember the much-welcomed feeling of safety. He felt taken care of. It was a little uncomfortable to admit— Will did not pride himself on any instances of dependency. He would be nobody’s burden but his own. To accept Hannibal’s offer now, to allow him the opportunity to provide for Will, was confusing to say the least. 

“It, uh, smells like you,” Will said.

Hannibal froze for an instant, seemingly struck by something in middle distance. 

“I’m sorry,” he offered.

“No,” Will stifled a small chuckle, “No, I like it. Thank you,”

Hannibal finally turned to face Will. “Of course,”

Will sat up in bed and rubbed his hands over his eyes so firmly he saw stars. In the hazy dissolve, he saw a figure bent close to him— a strong hand at the base of his neck and the soft, wet contact to his brow. _Oh._ Suddenly he remembered. The nightmare, Hannibal’s willing embrace. He understood that feeling of safety a little clearer now. Was his subconscious self so susceptible to Hannibal’s physical presence? 

He got out of bed and walked over to the kitchenette where Hannibal was making a pot of instant coffee. He grabbed the only two coffee mugs out of the top cupboard and placed them in front of Hannibal.

“Thank you. Sugar?”

“No, not today,” Will responded.

Will wondered when he was planning to leave. So little was packed… he wondered whether he could tell Hannibal if he didn’t want to keep running anymore, if he would accept it. He wondered if he wishes he had let Will kill them like he planned. Where would they be now? In another life?

Will turned around and leaned against the counter. Hannibal followed suit.

“Are you happy?” Will asked into his coffee, barely more than a whisper.

Hannibal gazed at him, pleasantly amused at his forthrightness.

“I am as happy as I have ever been. I am happy with you,”

Will blushed. He wasn’t accustomed to such explicit flattery just yet.

“Does that please you?” Hannibal asked.

Will sat for a moment then turned to him. He studied the way Hannibal was looking at him— had he always looked at him like that? How did he not see it before? All those late night appointments in the Baltimore office, all the flat announcements of disaster and declarations of charming cruelties, all spoken in hushed tones over a glass of blood red wine. Had he not been paying attention? 

He took a deep breath in and exhaled— _I can see you now._

Before he was completely sure what he was doing, Will idly grabbed a tendril of Hannibal’s hair and held it between two fingers. By now it was to his shoulders, curling slightly this way and that at the ends. Will had never seen it like this before, so loose and unmaintained. He would admit he liked it this way, was somehow calmed by observing the grey tint of Hannibal’s hair, but felt content not saying a word about it. Instead, Will would sometimes find himself reaching out for an uncooperative strand now and again to smooth back into place. The domesticity of the act surprised him. He only briefly considered his intentions. Was he tempting Hannibal, encouraging him in any way? It was beyond his control. The deep familiarity between them was a secret thing kept in a dimly lit room, a fragile toy you’re told not to play with too often for fear of it breaking. 

Will came back to himself after a quiet moment and awoke to find Hannibal’s eyes closed, face serene. His head tilted slightly towards Will’s lazy hand, almost touching.

“I think I'm happy, too” he whispered.


End file.
